I have just arrived in Pisa. It’s 9pm on this glorious summer night and I am sitting in an outdoor café 100 yards from the Tower. Cars are not allowed in this area and the quiet and stillness of it all inspires me. No music is playing, no beggars, no trolleys or children; just the sound of soft conversations drifting in the air and the clatter of tableware. This is no place for rebel rousers. I am tempted to yell just to see how Pisans react to loud and obnoxious folk.

This city is ancient, lovely and steeped in art. My cab driver is an artist. He told me this is a university town full of creative souls and historians. I like those sorts.

I am having spaghetti, red wine and grilled vegetables. I relish it like the day spent. This vacation is going beautifully. It’s hard to believe I am almost halfway through and I wish I could stretch it into winter. There is so much to explore and I doubt I would tire of wandering through all this newness.

I am heading out to Tuscany to spend a week at an art camp in the morning and I can’t wait to start painting. Though I love the silence of travelling alone, I look forward to conversation. I hallucinate a nice group of passionate artist who stay up late painting and drinking wine. I imagine fabulously long discussions of Rembrandt, Degas and Rodin with handsome Italians.

It will be nice to be still for a bit. I love that this place has a pool. I miss the water and intent to float and daydream often. It is somewhere in the hills of Tuscany near the town of Lucca. The online brochure sounds fabulous and the idea of roaming around 23 acres is intoxicating indeed.